


Blank Canvas of Stars and Death

by AlmondRose



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, everyone's dead yay!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondRose/pseuds/AlmondRose
Summary: She and her husband are dead, and their son is not, but the birds keep dying. She prays her son never comes. She wishes the birds--her grandkids---would stop coming. And they leave, in the end.





	

She wakes up surrounded by stars. They’re gold, glittery, floating all around her. Other than the stars, there is nothing. Nothing except him. 

 

His suit is rumpled and his hair is messy; nothing is more beautiful. She crawls over to him, feeling oddly weightless. 

 

“I’m here, I’m here,” she says, and he cups her face with his hand, breathes out her name. “I’m here, love,” she says, and she feels tears prick at her eyes. 

 

“But where  _ is _ here?” he asks her. She looks around, and she remembers before, when it was dark and cold, and there was rain, plastered to her cheeks, and the man before her was dead on the ground. She remembers pain, and screams. 

 

“I think we’re dead,” she says, and his eyes widen, horrified. She catches his train of thought. “Surely not….”

 

“He’s too young,” he says. “He can’t die.”

 

“But what if--” she chokes on the words, afraid to say them. He gathers her into his arms, and they wait, afraid. 

  
  
  


Their son never joins them. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Eons later, it seems, mist gathers and she watches, fascinated. They haven’t done much, just talked and laid down and held hands. There isn’t much to do, here, because all it is is space and space and space. She’s not even sure if there’s a proper floor, or if she’s even standing. 

 

Either way, mist gathers and solidifies, and a boy tumbles out. He has dark curly hair and he’s wearing a strange outfit, one that’s red and green and---is that a  _ cape?  _

 

He’s older than her son was, and a wild fear tears through her that that’s him. She and her husband run over to the boy. He rolls over and jumps up. 

 

“What the  _ hell?”  _ he asks. “Where am I? Is this another of the Joker’s tricks?” She’s not sure who the Joker is, and she knows this boy isn’t her son. But---she’s a mother, no matter how long she’s been dead. 

 

“Calm down,” she says. He turns to look at her, and he does a double take. 

 

“Wait--you--where am I?” he asks again, his voice falling. 

 

“Near as we can figure, you’re dead, son,” her husband says, and the boy chokes, falling to his knees. 

 

“He didn’t make it,” the boy whispers. “He didn’t save me.”

 

“Who didn’t?” she asks, instinctively knowing that his death was much, much worse than her own. And for a boy so young!

 

“M--my dad,” he wipes his eyes, even though he’s wearing a mask. “I mean, Bruce.”

 

“Bruce?” she asks, and she and her husband exchange a look. “Your father’s name is Bruce?”

 

“ _ Adopted  _ father,” he says. “And yeah, I know who you are, and yeah, it’s the same Bruce.”

 

“You mean---”

 

“He’s a father?” her husband says, finishing her sentence. “You’re our grandson?”

 

“A-adopted--” the boy starts, but she and her husband cut him off before he can finish, sweeping him into a hug. 

 

“You have to tell us everything,” she says, into her new grandson’s ear. And he takes a deep breath, and he starts with a night in an alley, and an afraid little boy, and he goes from there. 

 

He weaves a tale of revenge, and assassins, and superheroes, and bats. Circuses, and tires, and a little bird, flying through it all. He makes it to clowns, and crowbars, before he can’t go on anymore, and she doesn’t expect him to. 

 

“You’re so brave,” she says. “You’ve all been so brave.” And she hugs him again. 

  
  


Somehow it’s easier, with the three of them. The boy tells them about his entire life, tells them stories about his brother, about his father, about their butler, who’s like a father to their son. He tells them about the Titans, and she tells him about her childhood, about Bruce as a child. Her husband chips in with stories he remembers, about his childhood and about when she and him first met. 

 

It seems like it’ll be like this forever.

  
  


Until the mist congeals again. 

 

And another shape falls out of the darkness. 

  
  
  
  


It’s a girl, wrapped in purple and black. She has tangled blonde hair falling out of her hood, and she sobs when she sees the three, pouring around her. She cries out the boy’s name, tells her and her husband that she knows their son. 

 

She starts at the boy’s death and goes on from there, talking about birds and bats and Spoilers and clues and robins, flying through the air. She talks about a man called Matches, a war in Gotham. A baby, a man with a black mask. She finishes her tale and the boy grits his teeth, grinds out a question. 

 

“Did he kill that pasty ass clown?” 

 

She wants to scold him for his language, but the girl shakes her head, slowly, and the boy’s fist clenches. He gets up and storms away, and the girl in purple gets to her feet and runs after him, calling his name unsteadily. 

  
  


She and her husband wait for them to come back, but they don’t. 

  
  


She gets up and searches for them, but. They’re gone. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s just her and her husband, alone in this blank canvas of stars and death. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The mist congeals again and she berates her son for losing his children, but this one is different. He’s small and dressed in red and green again and his face--he looks just like her son. 

 

He spits that he is the blood son, that he is the true heir--to what, she’s not sure. She pats his shoulders, her husband ruffles his hair, and the little boy’s eyes widen, and he whispers, “Grandmother?” and it breaks her heart. 

  
  


She tells him to call her Grandma, and her husband agrees. He does not need to be formal here. The little boy repeats the word in a whisper, and she gathers him into her lap, and tells him to tell her everything. 

  
  


He’s surprised that she knows about Bruce, about Batman, but her husband reminds him of the other boy, his older brother, one he never knew---but he does. 

  
  


The boy and the girl who were here, they came back. They’re alive. The little boy says he respects the boy, says that he “admires his tactics”. He complains about the girl, but his cheeks are tinged red and she thinks he likes her. 

  
  


He tells them about everything they’ve missed, about his mother, about his father. He tells, them, and he talks about his dog, and his friend, and then he’s gone. 

 

Vanished, into the starry empty and she hopes beyond hope that her son brought him back, that he’s alive and with his family again. 

  
  
  
  
  


Neither of them see anyone else for a long while, not until two figures walk out of the mist. 

  
  


It’s a man and a woman, holding hands. They sit across from her and her husband. The other couple hasn’t seen anyone since they died, they say. The woman is worried about her son. 

 

“What’s your name?” she asks, curious. 

 

“Mary,” the other answers. “This is my husband, John.”

 

“John and Mary what?” her husband asks, although it hardly matters. 

 

“Grayson,” Mary says, and she smiles, puts her arms around the couple, who are just around her age. 

 

“Well, John and Mary Grayson, I am Martha Wayne, and let me tell you about what Jason, Stephanie, and Damian told me.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING HOPE U ENJOYED!!!!!! COMMENTS/KUDOS ALWAYS WELCOME <3 !!!!


End file.
